It's Just A Haircut
by Narri-chan
Summary: Did anybody else pick up on the drastic change in Noir's hair length between Noel's story arc and the Morocco arc? A little oneshot on how that came to be. Mild yaoi, duhr. R&R, kiddos!


Noir had not been seen all day.

Normally Florian wouldn't notice or care what the Phantom Thief did with his spare time (as long as it did not involve himself and that whip), but a series of odd circumstances had occurred throughout the day and Noir had not been present for any of them, driving a bit of worry into Florian's mind.

For one thing, the kitchen had exploded that morning. It had really, really gone out with a bang: a hole about ten feet tall and wide now graced the back wall of the kitchen (and, incidentally, the house). The first people on the scene were witnesses to a sort of mini-apocalypse, with thick, black smoke pouring from the twisted remains of what had been a wood-burning stove, and puddles of various sizes lay splattered, some of them flaming, on almost every surface the room had to offer. It was no small wonder who was the cause of it all: Laila was found unconscious but, for the most part, unharmed in the middle of the rubble, sooty and covered in bits of unidentifiable food.

Florian had tried to track Noir down when he hadn't shown up, and after assuring him that Laila was fine and lying down, suggest that they consider employing a full-time cook. But Noir was nowhere to be found: granted, Florian hadn't looked that hard. He hadn't had time, with disaster number two right on the heels of its predecessor.

Thanks to Noel, there was now a live badger somewhere in the mansion. The boy, nearly five weeks after moving in with the household, still apparently wasn't comfortable playing in it, as he'd always been taught (Florian thanked God) to be on his best behavior in other peoples' houses. So Noel spent a lot of his time outside, usually with supervision, with the supervision almost always Florian. But Noel had gone outside on his own that morning, and somewhere on the grounds (according to his side of the story) had come across a pair of hounds pawing at the animal, who was trying its best to defend itself. Noel had "rescued" the animal and taken it home—he had the scratches up and down his arms to prove it—and somewhere in one of the numerous rooms Noir's mansion had to offer, it had gotten away from him.

A hired man, Luc, had brought the household running when he screamed shrilly at discovering the little beast under a chair, hissing at him territorially. Unfortunately, it seemed that the badger had the good sense to make itself scarce, which led to most of the hired help and several of Noir's entourage heading up a manor-wide badger hunt. Florian, bandaging a sniffling Noel's scratches and scrapes, had thought the thief would at least turn up for that fiasco; alas, Noir was as well-hidden as the badger. Florian snorted in amusement: the thief was probably just as temperamental, too.

And then, to top it all off, Inspector Sugar had dropped by for one of his little "house calls". This, on top of everything else, would probably have sent Noir into a full-blown tantrum…had the thief been around to witness it all. But, as the butler reported to Florian, Count Courland could not be found, and did he know where he was? Hardly. And so Solomon Sugar was shown the door, much to his annoyance. Florian couldn't help but find it amusing that for once, the detective was the one leaving in a bad mood.

But that did not solve the problem the entire household now seemed to share: their master was nowhere to be seen or heard from, right when they needed him. Florian tried to ignore the mild state of panic that the rest of the house was in, opting instead to keep Noel occupied with fairy tales, but when the sun was finally setting, Noel had fallen asleep, and somewhere in the house someone screamed "There it is!" followed by the loud stomp of running footsteps, Florian was just about fed up. How was Noir ignoring all of this? It seemed unthinkable that the man wouldn't be in the middle of everything, ranting and raving and brandishing his whip at people, but sorting everything out with his usual finesse. He was beginning to wonder if Noir was seriously ill.

Florian had a good idea of where the thief was, having looked just about everywhere in the house and finding Noir nowhere. With the exception, that was, of the thief's massive chambers: those doors had been locked. It didn't take a genius to figure out that that was where Noir was most likely hibernating. Only one problem, Florian realized, stood in between their current situation and dragging Noir out by an ear and forcing him to face the music: the doors were, in fact, locked, and Noir himself was the only one he trusted enough to have a set of keys.

Florian had never picked a lock before, but rationed that it couldn't be that hard: Noir did it almost every heist he pulled. So Florian lost no time in going to his own rooms and fetching something small, skinny and sharp: one of his mother's smaller hat pins, her favorite, which he'd taken with him as a keepsake when he first moved into the mansion. It ought to do the job nicely: and even if he couldn't quite get the door open, Noir was probably paranoid enough to hear his door being tampered with and rush out to confront the intruder. Florian supposed that being overly protective of one's own home came with the territory of being a thief oneself. Hastening to the doors of Noir's private rooms, the blond carefully inserted the pin into the rather large keyhole set below the doorknob, and began to poke around with it.

He had no idea what he was looking for, had no knowledge of which spring to trigger or lever to lift, but with everything that had gone awry that day, luck still must have been on his side, because with a loud pop/click that echoed from the keyhole, Florian felt the doorknob give under his hand and he stumbled into the spacious room.

He'd never been in Noir's bedroom before; according to Laila, only a select few had. Noir seemed to value his bedchambers as a personal sanctuary, despite spending most of his time in his study or library. Florian shielded his eyes against the bright beams of light that shone over the horizon and through the glass windowpanes of the thief's room. The soft peach light tinged the whole room in golds and browns, and when Florian's eyes adjusted to the blinding sunset, he made out several large chairs that looked big and soft enough to function as beds, various small tables with books and papers tossed about on them (as well as on the floor), and a bed large enough for at least six people to fit comfortably, draped in sheer, multicolored silks that practically sang of Morocco, along with heavy velvet covers and hangings.

Scanning the large room for Noir, Florian spotted (with some alarm) the Thief sitting at a rich oak desk at the far end of the room, in turn observing him. "Nice, isn't it?"

"Urm, yes," Florian agreed somewhat awkwardly, before remembering why he was there in the first place. "Noir, where have you been all day? Everyone in the building has been in absolute chaos since sunrise, practically, and nobody can find you, which made it even worse…did you know that Laila blew out a wall in the kitchen?

"No, but it doesn't surprise me," Noir commented dryly, crossing the room to shut and lock the doors that Florian had left flung open. "Is she alright?"

"She's resting, she's just a bit shaken up. You still should have been there," Florian told the thief flatly, noticing for the first time that Noir was wearing the elaborate headscarf that he usually wore out to public functions, the one he had been wearing the night they first met. He vaguely wondered why, before continuing. "And you're not going to like this a bit, so brace yourself, but somewhere in your mansion is a rogue badger."

"You mean the one who won't let me near my own bed?" Noir asked with an amused smirk, and Florian noticed for the first time, with some shock, the small, dark shape glowering at them both from under the mahogany bedposts. "Or have they multiplied?"

Florian shook his head, backing quickly away from the hissing animal to stand with Noir. "So this is where you've both been hiding. You've got a lot of people looking for you," he told the badger somewhat sternly. Noir chuckled and retreated behind his desk again. "It's my house, I'm allowed to disappear into it for a while if I want to. And I saw that nuisance of an inspector coming and going earlier, so it seems I picked a good day to lie low. Besides, most of the people in this house are mature adults, and can manage themselves," he told Florian, shooting him a smug look. Florian crossed his arms. "Won't you at least give a reason that you've suddenly turned into a grumpy old recluse?"

"I could, but I won't," Noir grinned, pulling an expensive-looking cigarette from its case and fumbling around for a match to light it with, finding none. Florian rolled his eyes and pulled a matchbox from his pocket; he'd learned to have them on hand at all times in case Noir grew irritable and wanted to smoke. Suddenly, an idea occurred to him, and he held up the box with a coy smile. "I'll trade you your oh-so-terrible secret for a lit match."

"I've got a better idea: why don't I just take that box from you?" Noir raised an not-amused eyebrow. Florian held his hand threateningly in the direction of their growling friend under the bed. "You could try," he bit back lightly, secretly enjoying having an edge over the great Phantom Thief Noir for once. Said thief growled deep in his throat, sounding oddly, Florian thought, like the badger. Then, wordlessly, Noir reached up to his headscarf and pulled it sideways off of his head.

Florian couldn't contain a squeak of laughter before clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle any further sounds. Noir's once-long, brown mane had been horrendously butchered, the entire left side of his head cropped short in uneven ends just below his left ear, the ends of his hair getting longer steadily at a downward angle until they reached the right end of his hair, which had hardly been touched. Noir growled irritably at Florian, who was still staring in shocked, suppressed mirth, and approached the blond to jerk the matchbox out of his pale hand. "Didn't your dear mother ever teach you not to stare?" he asked coldly. Florian closed his eyes, shaking his head to rid himself of the ridiculous picture, but when he opened them again there it was. "I-I'm…how did this…?" he groped about for coherence.

"Laila." Noir rolled his eyes, the single word explaining everything. "I knew I should have gone to a barber, but I was right in the middle of a very intriguing passage in my newest gem anthology, and didn't want to go out." He fingered the shortest ends of his hair. "So I suppose I'm probably to blame for the damage to the kitchen; I was rather short with her about the hair, wouldn't let her near my bangs after what she did to the rest. I don't know what's going on with her lately," Noir shook his head.

Florian, having sobered up somewhat, attempted a reassuring smile. "It isn't that bad, Noir, I promise," he offered. He was met with a skeptical glare from the other man. "Okay, it is pretty bad," he admitted. "But it can be fixed. Do you have scissors?"

Noir suddenly looked defensive and skeptical. "I'm not sure I want anyone else near my hair, thank you. Have you ever cut hair before?"

"Mother always cut my hair and I watched how she did it, and last week I cut Noel's. It didn't turn out bad."

"I noticed the kid's had gotten shorter. I thought Laila had done it, that's why I let her at mine," Noir grimaced. Florian couldn't help a chuckle. "Just give me the shears. I won't disappoint you." Noir raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Alright, but you'd better not, or I'll have my money back."

"Oh, so funny," Florian rolled his eyes, stepping behind Noir and taking a strand of the man's silky brown hair in between his fingers, visually measuring it visually against the shortest parts of his chopped-up mane. "I can warn you, it's going to be short."

Noir shrugged. "It's just hair, I'll grow it out again." The scissors snipped closely to his right ear, and moved over an inch to begin again. He couldn't help thinking how comfortable it was, having Florian so close to him, the pretty blond's fingers in his hair, even if it wasn't a romantic situation. Soft fingertips brushed over his ear and Noir shivered despite himself.

"Hold still," Florian scolded gently. He'd never known Noir's hair was this soft; it always appeared sleek and svelte, but was actually fine and soft to the touch. Florian smiled down at the thief, he honestly hadn't expected Noir to trust him like this, but he was glad the man had. In spite of everything, he was actually beginning to feel at home here with Noir. He felt content in calm moments like this one where they were just in each others' company, and sometimes felt an oddly strong emotion whenever he looked at Noir too closely. As a stray lock of brown hair fell free of the working shears, Florian paused to tuck it into his pocket.

Before either of them wished it, the job was through. Noir pulled a small hand mirror to examine Florian's handiwork carefully. It was Florian's turn to don a skeptical expression, as he questioned, "You seriously carry a mirror around with you?"

"Oh, be quiet," Noir growled, running a hand absently through his newly-shortened locks. "This is quite good. Thank you."

Florian was aghast as he felt heat flood as face, and he had no idea why. "Urm…it was nothing," he shrugged it off. "But come ask me first next time, all right?" He joked. Noir grinned. "Why, of course. You know, you could go into business as a barber. Begin paying back some of your gargantuan debt? Remember that?"

"As a barber? My mother would turn over in her grave," Florian grinned back sadly. "Thank you, though." As the two men turned to exit the room, they found an unpleasant little surprise waiting for them by the door. Their friend the badger snarled at them, curled up in the precise middle of the wide doors. Florian groaned. "Perfect. Now what?"

"Now we turn in," Noir sighed, shooting Monsieur Badger a dirty glare. "And hope he's moved or been discovered by morning."

"And just where am I supposed to sleep?" Florian questioned, trying not to fall into distraction as Noir slipped out of his robes, leaving only a loose pair of breeches. The thief pulled back the loose hangings around the bed and slid in with practiced ease. Once settled, he smirked over at Florian. "What? It isn't as if anyone will find us, I locked those doors behind you, remember? And I won't lay a finger on you," he chuckled, obviously enjoying himself as Florian spluttered indignantly. "Can't have my precious amethyst getting spooked and running off again."

Florian scowled over at Noir as the thief innocently patted the empty half of his giant bed. "All right…but I'm trusting you," he muttered resignedly, and began undressing as quickly as possible. He could feel Noir's eyes on him the entire time, and the thought sent chills up his spine, in a surprisingly good way, though he couldn't figure out why. As he climbed into the almost-too-soft bed and burrowed in up to his chin, he heard Noir laugh and turn over to douse a kerosene lamp on a small table by the bed. Night had fallen over the city, and the room was plunged into darkness. Florian hated that, he always at least kept a small candle burning by the bed while he slept. But sooner or later, both men fell into dreams.

Noir awoke sleepily in the middle of the night, as a grandfather clock elsewhere in the mansion chimed four am. He startled for a moment, finding a long pair of arms wrapped around his waist and a soft head tucked against his shoulder, but then remembered the events of the previous evening, and smiled down at Florian. He could just make out a small smile lingering on Florian's lips, strands of hair and Florian's long eyelashes curtaining his beautiful eyes, closed silently in sleep. Noir almost laughed; the gorgeous man could be so childlike sometimes. And Florian called him juvenile…

Well, this wasn't his fault. He'd promised not to lay a finger on Florian and, really, he hadn't. Noir closed his eyes again, breathing in the gentle scent of Florian's hair, and drifted back to sleep.

'I need to get my hair cut more often.'


End file.
